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Thursday, January 20, 2011

Amarilla Bound

"Only 'bout eighty miles, two days of hard riding. We got to get across this Llano Estacado with our scalps intact and we'll be there. How's the girl holdin' up?" asked Wussy.

"I'm doin' just fine, Marshal. The sooner we get there, the better," she said from behind him. She was riding double with the Marshal, but he couldn't see much from his angle. He could feel her arms around his waist, though, as she gave him a squeeze that sent a quickening through his loins.

He turned his head and whispered, "Maybe we should stop awhiile, and I'll send Horse up ahead on a scout and we'll have some time alone." He gave her a wink and rested one hand on her arm.

"I told you, I'm not that kind of girl. I don't want to stop. I want to get to Amarilla."

Disappointed, he pulled alongside Horse, saying, "What's that up ahead, Horse? It looks like somebody's old camp from here. It don't look good with them vultures hanging around."

"That's what it is, all right. Look at those clumps on the ground, what is that?" replied Horse.

Drawing closer, they saw the clumps were bodies, five of them, and they looked like they had been there for a couple of days, all swollen up with blow flies hovering and landing on them. They had been scalped and mutilated, adding the smell of blood to the attraction for the insects, coyotes, and vultures.

"Whew! That smell is terrible," said Horse. "Who do you s'pose they are, our cow thieves?"

"Miss, I'm goin' to drop you off at that lone cedar tree over there," said Wussy. "This ain't no sight for a woman of your delicate nature."

"My husband's lying there. I'm not going anywhere," she said. She climbed off the horse and ran to each of the bodies. She had a hard time finding him, because of all the blood and gore and swelling. "This is him," she yelled and kneeled by one of them. She didn't yell and scream and cry or try to hug the body, but sat back on her feet and stared, a dainty white hanky held over her mouth and nose.

"Come, lass, there ain't nothing you can do for him, except give him a burial of some kind," said Wussy.

She looked up at the lawman, her eyes dry, and said, "I'll never miss this piece of dung. I don't care whether he's buried or not. He'll never lay another hand on me." She took a deep breath and let out a long sigh.

"Them's our rustlers, all right," said Horse, looking at each corpse and naming them off. "And there's two dead beef where they had their fire. The Comanche must have had a big party, five scalps and forty animals to steal," said Horse.

"Let's bury these bodies and take the girl to Amarilla," said Wuss. "Ain't no use chasing after the cattle. We'll report it to the Army and let them handle it. Horse, get all their personals out of their pockets and we'll take that, too. If you're keeping score, Horse, you can put down Comanche - 5, Texans -0."

THE END

HISTORICAL NOTE: Although the Comanche won the battle in this fiction, their numbers had dwindled from around 30,000-40,000 to less than half that by 1870 [to 8,000 per tolatsga.org]. The white man's diseases decimaed the tribe with plagues of the measles, smallpox and cholera, not counting those killed outright by the white man. Their population has increased to over 14,000 at the present time. (Source: Wikipedia)

(I don't follow instructions very well. No deep canyons or agonizing protaganist, etc. Maybe I should read them again.)